


A Raven For A Dove

by bjfic_archivist



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Canon, Season/Series 01, Short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-09-13
Updated: 2008-09-13
Packaged: 2018-12-27 14:16:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12082761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bjfic_archivist/pseuds/bjfic_archivist
Summary: Season 1: An encounter between Brian and Justin through the eyes of an unusual observer.





	A Raven For A Dove

**Author's Note:**

> Note from IrishCaelan, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Brian_Justin_Fanfiction_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in September 2017. I posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/bjfic/profile).

  
Author's notes: Written for the 'Through the Eyes of...' Challenge at 'neverenough_bj'  
  
Special thanks to my wonderful beta, Plumduff  


* * *

**A Raven For A Dove**

The sharp contours of the world have grown faint and indistinct; objects are now defined only in charcoal and ivory and feathery white. The misty, leaden sheets of horizontal rain sap the colour and vitality from the rare but comforting moment of urban tranquility. 

The black asphalt of the road shines like obsidian in the diffracted, faintly sepia-hued sunlight. I tilt my head and listen to the crescendo of water music, a symphony of sound that so often falls on deaf ears. From my place under the eaves, I watch as the raindrops hurl themselves from the sky to shatter against the impervious earth.

The sound of muffled footsteps reverberating from a nearby alleyway cuts through the moment of peace, at first indistinct, but growing more defined with each footfall. 

These are the heavy footsteps of tired, damp feet in sopping wet socks and waterlogged shoes; feet that had long since accepted their fate and succumbed to the inevitability of wrinkled toes and squelchy footprints. 

Following this heralding, he appears from around the corner of the next street; a figure all hunched and huddled against the howling wind.

The collar of his navy jacket is drawn up around his neck, fingers so numb with cold that they seem to be frozen around the nylon strap of his backpack. Pale golden hair in a schoolboy cut is plastered to his forehead, his eyes are cast downwards, his head turned away in an attempt to shield his face from the freezing, pelting onslaught.

A car passes him in the street, a brilliant flash of scarlet, splashing glittering cascades of fallen raindrops up onto the pavement. The wave shimmers in the watery light as it crashes across his shoes and splashes up the leg of his already damp school uniform.

He swears loudly, something indistinct, harsh and angry, his voice raised uselessly as the ephemeral red flash of the guilty party disappears down the next side street. 

For a moment, he stands there indignantly, staring angrily at the street corner from around which the offending car has now disappeared.

Then his shoulders lift in a despondent sigh and his arms wrap themselves around his chest, trying to hold in the warmth that is dissipating with every billowing, nebulous cloud of exhaled breath. 

His teeth start to chatter, their gentle clinking blending with the continuous plinking of raindrops as they slide from the eaves into the glittering puddles below.

Moments pass but he doesn’t proceed- it seems his journey on foot has ended here, under the faded sign for the bus stop. He stands on the sidewalk shivering, transferring his weight from one foot to the other, his eyes shifting now and then to look impatiently up the street.

The way he hunches his shoulders and cuddles into his jacket makes me think of a sleeping dove. His feathers might have been pure white with innocence, if not for the speckles of forbidden knowledge.

The sound of another car approaching up one of the side streets makes the boy look up sharply. From the sounds of the engine, revving and roaring like heavy mechanical breathing, the vehicle is moving too fast, the tires pounding effortlessly through the rivers that run in torrents across the asphalt. 

A moment later, there’s a flash of brilliant black as the jeep rounds the corner, its roar rebounding off the rusty red brickwork, magnified a hundred times. Water cascades in rivulets from the sleek body, picked up by wind and speed, fluttering in rippling waves as it slides off and away in a glittering spray.

There is immediate recognition and the boy is instantly transfixed. 

His whole body tenses with excitement and uncertainty, his face becomes alight with an inner glow: sunshine cutting a streak of brightness through the gloom of the day and of his own confusing, unsatisfying world.

The boy’s plea is silent, but his helpless, desperate hope is revealed in his every movement. It’s evident in the way he no longer heeds the pounding rain or the driving wind, in the squaring of his shoulders and in the tiny shuffle of squelching feet towards the edge of the pavement.

Blue eyes are fixed on the reflective surface of the jeep’s dark windscreen, peering desperately through the streams of water flowing effortlessly across its glassy surface, dodging the sweeping path of the relentless wipers. 

As the vehicle passes him on the other side of the street, he sees his own fleeting reflection in the driver’s tinted window; the intense, anxious hope etched into every facial feature. 

He raises an arm, the hand extended, the fingers outstretched- a desperate movement to make his presence and identity known in the fleeting hope that the driver is merely distracted, not deliberately ignoring him.

But his gesture goes unnoticed and unacknowledged. 

The jeep passes him in the opposite lane without even checking its speed, without the slightest indication of a pause for thought on the driver’s behalf. 

Opportunity lost. Paradise Lost.

The boy’s face portrays his feelings- all his hopes and desperate desires have again slipped through his fingers, roaring past him in a blaze of sleek ebony.

He lowers his head and his arms fall to his sides, his head drops despondently so that his chin almost rests on his chest. The rain pelts his now unprotected body, falling into the white-gold hair and running in streaks down his cheeks like tears.

The silence roars amidst the gentle tinkle of the raindrop sonata played in the puddles below the eaves. The world again is still but for the boy’s uneven breaths, dispelling in vaporous clouds of bitter regret and disappointment.

He’s so upset, so tangled up in the webs of confusion and desire, that he doesn’t hear the jeep returning, sliding effortlessly back through the sheets of rain, this time on the boy’s side of the street. 

The engine is not revving and roaring now, but is purring vociferously, with a distinct note of cool grandiloquence. Droplets of rain cling to the slick, black surface of the hood, flickering as the vehicle slows in its progression along rain-slicked streets.

The car is very close when the boy finally dares to look up; terrified his mind and his heart are playing tricks on him. Beads of rainwater hover suspended from tendrils of his wet hair, shaken free in a shower of droplets as his swipes back the strands that have fallen across his face.

His eyes dart nervously, apprehensively, from the opaque, glassy windscreen to a stop sign further up the street and back again. His excitement is now visibly tainted with unease, as if he suddenly feels unsure of himself. 

As the jeep draws up to the curb, the boy hesitates, his feet shuffling forwards half an inch, outwardly stealing himself to act casual while inwardly struggling to calm the pounding of his heart. 

The sleek black machine finally draws to a halt directly in front of the boy, the engine purring steadily like the contented sound of a huge mechanical cat. The driver’s darkened window is rolled down at a leisurely, tantalizing pace, as if the driver knows that the boy would wait forever.

To my own experienced eyes, the man behind the wheel is a raven. He has the air of one who soars carefree on glossy black wings, swishing flashy, lustrous feathers as he flies, ever above the cares of the world. Raven is as raven does…but even one such as he can’t fly forever.

How long it would be, I wonder, before the dove clipped his wings, silenced his harsh cry, and in the soft light of dusk, brought him home to roost? 

The boy searches out the older man’s face, but a pair of dark sunglasses shields the eyes he was hoping to meet. The glasses maybe merely for show, as there’s no sun to deflect- or perhaps the raven has something to hide in the depths of his expressive eyes… 

“Get in,” his smooth voice demands, and there is a definite note of seduction and desire behind the words.

For a moment, the boy’s breath catches, the billowing clouds of moisture ceasing abruptly in their upward migration. For a moment, the stillness returns as the boy waits for some kind of ultimatum, some contradiction, the declaration of some price he cannot pay.

It never comes.

The boy releases his breath in a steady exhalation of relief and excitement and anticipation. 

He reaches out a hand and runs his fingers along the polished body of the jeep, just above the wheel-well, the droplets gathering at his fingertips and sliding onto his skin, across his palms and down his wrists. 

He watches their progression for a second or two, before he finally steels himself to speak.

“Where’re we going?” he asks, looking up and seeing his own face reflected in the iridescent surface of the sunglasses. 

The older man’s lips curl upwards in an almost predatory, seductive smile, and I notice his fingers tightening on the steering wheel.

“No place special,” he replies, then with a note of sardonic amusement adds, “Somewhere we can get you out of those wet clothes…”

The boy blushes, a rosy hue that spreads up into his pale face, synchronous with the glow that creeps up into his eyes, making them sparkle brightly.

He smiles brilliant sunshine, and the older man’s eyes shift behind his glasses - he seems determined to keep the light from crossing the threshold into his soul.

But light always finds its way in through every cracked shutter and under every doorjamb, through every keyhole, escaping out through every tiny break in the clouds. Unlike darkness, light can't be shut out.

The younger man ducks his head in an attempt to control his exuberance, but his excitement is evident in the way he half-skips and half-bounds to the passenger's side. 

His fingers fumble with the catch of the door handle as he pulls it open clumsily, the radiance of his sunshine smile still casting light into the gloom around him.

Even before the boy has a chance to slam the door shut behind him, the mechanical purring of the engine intensifies to a deafening roar as the wheels start to spin. The tires swerve as the steering wheel is jerked to the side and the vehicle pulls quickly away from the curb with an upsurge of speed.

As the jeep begins to accelerate, I catch a glimpse of the boy’s face through the tinted glass of the passenger’s side window. His look is exultant, but the thin veil of apprehension remains to softly overlie his exuberance.

Perhaps he knows that he’s found shelter from this storm in the very heart of another. 

I wonder if this boy will be able to weather it, and if he will one day discover that- beneath the gloss and the shine and the show- the raven is a dove as well.

The roar of the engine slowly dies away, and I am left listening again to the silence filled with song. After a time, the rain begins to fall more softly, and the wind dies slowly into the whispering rustle of dead leaves, still clinging to the branches of sleeping trees.

I raise myself from my perch and fluff my feathers; stretching my stiff wings that are cramped from the time I’ve spent huddling under the eaves. 

With a last fleeting glance at the world below me, I spread my wings skyward. I fly hard and rise aloft, soaring upwards against the empty clouds, now glowing indigo with the heralding of dusk.

THE END


End file.
